


Fate's Games

by moriturus



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Discord: Elsanna Shenanigans (Disney), Elsanna Shenanigans Discord Monthly Contest (Disney), F/F, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28002387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moriturus/pseuds/moriturus
Summary: Oh, I forgot to mention. I'm an actual vampire. Hi. My name... well, I've been called a bunch of names - very few of them polite - but I still go by the one I had in the before times: Anna. You know, before I became this bloodsucking creature. I was born in the year of our Lord 1822. I know what you're thinking: I look great for someone who's 198 years old. I think so, too.
Relationships: Anna/Elsa (Disney)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 33





	1. Fate's Games, Part 1

_Warnings: blood and gore, violence, vampirism, murder._

# Fate’s Games, Chapter 1

I love this time of year. The crisp autumn wind, the leaves blowing in little tornadoes, the decorations, and the costumes. Oh, the costumes. Everyone’s dressed up like werewolves and ghosts and vampires.

The vampires are my favorite. I’m not sure when vampires went from Gothic Bela Lugosi to slutty Kardashians with canines, but I’m not complaining one little bit. I love a woman in a corset and silly plastic fangs as much as the next woman. They’re nothing like me, but they sure do provide great cover for, like, the entire month of October.

Seriously! You can walk straight into any crowded place dressed as outlandishly as you please, and for one month of the year, no one considers it weird. I can take out my dusty 1840s Norwegian royal clothing and no one bats an eye at it. I have this great outfit, a royal green dress, complete with a gold crocus tiara, and sometimes I’ll just wear it out and about. No one ever cares except kids. Kids love it.

Oh, I forgot to mention. I’m an actual vampire. Hi. My name… well, I’ve been called a bunch of names - very few of them polite - but I still go by the one I had in the before times: Anna. You know, before I became this bloodsucking creature. I was born in the year of our Lord 1822. I know what you’re thinking: I look great for someone who’s 198 years old. I think so, too.

Once upon a time, I was an honest-to-God princess of a tiny little principality now in Norway called Arendelle, with my parents and older sister. We were happy, I was engaged to be married to a commoner (which was quite the scandal in the day), and life was good.

And then suddenly, it wasn’t.

* * *

I was 25 years old when it happened.

“Iduna, we have to go!” my father shouted, grabbing what he could from the stores of the palace. “Get Elsa and Anna, we must leave quickly!”

My mother, God rest her soul, always looked out for us girls. She’d already put together a steamer trunk for each of us of our most precious belongings, and had them taken down to the royal coach waiting by the palace gates. My older sister Elsa was right behind her, and I was right behind Elsa as we scrambled down the circular staircase in the palace.

Once upon a time, Elsa and I had ridden bikes down that staircase, in happier times.

Anyway, we got to the gates and just as we were clambering into the carriage, the outer gates burst open and blood-crazed villagers came charging through it.

If you’ve ever seen any of those wildlife documentaries on late-night TV where a pack of hyenas just charges a wildebeest, it looked like that, without David Attenborough narrating. And my family was the wildebeest.

The blood craze was some disease from Hungary. We’d heard about it for weeks, news traveling from the continent up north, but it sounded ridiculous. Rumors and speculation about some disease that turned people into lunatics, eating each other, etc. Honestly, it sounded like a bad serial from the Post Magazine.

Well, it turns out it wasn’t fiction. The disease made people mad with rage, mindless beasts that just slaughtered everyone and everything - and that included us.

Even though I’ve replayed the scene in my head thousands of times over the last hundred plus years, I still don’t know exactly what happened. I remember being pulled out of the carriage by my neck, being thrown to the ground, and someone clambering on top of me, trying to bite me. They eventually got to my neck, but I bit them back just as hard. Call it instinct or whatever, but I got my teeth on them… and then I blacked out.

When I came to, I was laying on the palace steps - but I was still alive.

Sort of.

The rest of my family, not so much. I’ll spare you the details, but I see them every other week or so in my nightmares. You’d think after 173 years, the nightmares would fade a little, but nope.

Anyway, it took about a month before I noticed something was really wrong, mostly because the countryside had been decimated and almost no one survived. If you’ve never heard of the nation of Arendelle, that would be why. After a month of fleeing, I found myself in Stockholm, perpetually hungry and cold no matter how often I ate or drank. I was hiding out in a dark alley in Gamla Stan and some guy decided that I was his prize of the night.

We tussled for a bit, but ever since waking up from the palace incident, I found myself much, much stronger - and I was already pretty strong to begin with. Remind me to tell you the story sometime when I punched this jackass from the Southern Isles completely off a boat.

Back to the guy in the alley. He grabbed me from behind and tried to carry me off, but I wrenched his thumbs so far back, I swear it sounded like boards breaking. Gave him a quick elbow shot and a kick to the crown jewels… and then it happened.

I didn’t know what made me do it at the time, but I spun him around and sank my teeth into his neck… and 15 minutes later, he was a bloodless corpse in the alleyway and I wasn’t hungry or cold any more.

Well, shit.

* * *

Over the decades, I’ve managed to piece together what happened, more or less. There are some rare blood-borne diseases that stop your body from making important nutrients, and whatever the blood craze was back in the 1840s, it left me permanently infected - and affected.

I have to consume blood in order to survive, along with normal food and water. That part’s pretty obvious, you know? And it has to be human blood, unfortunately. But the disease does something else. The best I can tell, it’s almost like a cancer, in that my body never ages, heals crazy fast, never gets old or infirm as long as I can find fresh blood. That’s why I’m still here in 2020, long after everyone I ever once loved has died.

That part really sucks, pun not intended.

I grew up in a palace, learning all kinds of manners, moral codes, guiding the people, and so on. I was the younger child, so I was more or less the backup princess, the spare in case something happened to my older sister. Despite a bit of tomboyishness, I was brought up with strong morals, and even now I try not to break too many of the rules. I don’t need to feed too often; once a week or so during the warmer months, and maybe once a month when it’s cold. And I have a neat trick for choosing who I eat: they choose me.

Yup. I go to the rougher parts of cities and play the little naive girl. The first guy who tries to take without asking is the designated meal of the moment. I’ll usually take their money, too. They don’t need it, and it helps keep a roof over my head.

The only exception I’ll make to that rule is if I see a guy - and it’s almost always a guy - trying to do the same to someone else.

Like now.

I saw a new girl show up on my street a few days ago. Couldn’t see much except that she was blonde - my favorite, it always reminds me of my long-departed sister - and just like the rest of us: cold, hungry, just trying to get by.

As I was walking home from work - yes, I have a job - I saw a meathead harassing her under the Fifth Street bridge. He was pushing her around, and it was clear she wanted no part of it; he already had ripped her shirt and was pawing at her. Uh uh. Not in my neighborhood, buddy.

So I walk over, tapped him on the shoulder and politely let him know that sort of behavior wasn’t acceptable around these parts.

“Fuck you, bitch!” he snarled, making a move to backhand me.

I mentioned the part where I’m bizarrely strong, right?

“Did you know…” I smiled at him, grabbing his hand, “that there are eight bones in the wrist? And that they tend to break most easily when pressed against each other?” I gave him a good squeeze and heard a couple pop, almost in time with the sound of his knees hitting the ground from the pain. If he has any sense at all, this is the point where he begs and then runs away - and I’ll let him go. I’m not a complete monster.

I looked at the girl and lost my breath for a moment. Blonde hair. Sapphire blue eyes. Dirty from living on the streets, gaunt. But oh Lord, she looked like a ringer for my sister. I was so distracted that meathead managed to actually punch me in the knee.

“Did you… did you seriously just punch me in the knee? That’s the dumbest place you could have hit, you idiot.” Time to get serious. I look at the girl. “Turn around and close your eyes. Count to one hundred out loud.”

She nods silently and begins counting, and as soon as her attention is turned, I spin meathead around, cover his nose and mouth, and bite. I won’t be able to drain him dry; that takes a good 10 to 15 minutes, but this will fill me up enough while putting him down for good.

Just as I’m finishing up, the girl disobeys me and turns around. Oops. She sees me, face covered in blood, meathead’s corpse limp in my arms, and promptly faints.

Damn it.

* * *

“Hey. Hey, lady. Wake up.”

I shake her shoulder gently, trying to get her to stir, but she remains completely out on my couch.

Yes, my couch. I couldn’t just leave her there. She’d be a suspect once someone discovered meathead.

I inspect her more closely. God, she’s thin. Too thin. She’s not as young as I thought, either, probably in her 20s. And my initial shock has worn off. She looks a lot like my sister did, but not exactly. Her nose is cuter, I think, and her cheekbones more prominent.

I think. It’s been 173 years since I lost my sister and I mostly remember her, but not the fine details. The hardest part to remember is her voice. Sometimes I’ll hear “Queen of Swords” on the radio and it sounds like her, but time has eroded the exactness. Mystery Girl is a close match, though.

Mystery Girl finally starts to stir. This is usually the part that involves a lot of screaming and running away.

“Ugh…. what… where…”

“Hi there. I’m Anna. I rescued you from that guy who clearly had less than good intentions towards you.” I wave, giving her my best innocent smile. God, her voice is so close to my sister’s, too.

Mystery Girl rubs her eyes blearily, and you can just see the train of thought running through her pretty head. Get your bearings. Recognize the woman in front of you. Remember what happened. Scream a lot.

“Oh my God! You- you- you killed that man! You killed that man and- and- and-”

I lift my wrist and press the talk button on my watch. “Hey Siri, set a timer for 5 minutes.” The watch dings appropriately just as Mystery Girl’s hysterics begin. Five minutes is usually about how long this takes.

Just like always happens, she’s scrambling to the end of the couch, shrieking incoherently, probably remembering me with blood all over my mouth. While she does her thing, I grab a blackberry seltzer and a turkey sandwich from the fridge and plop down in the armchair, feet dangling over the edge as she continues to panic.

“What- what are you? Are you going to kill me too? Am I your prisoner? HELP! HELP! POLICE! ANYONE!”

I yawn and glance at my watch. 3 minutes, 45 seconds. She’s starting to wind down a little. This one’s gonna be close.

“Please… please don’t kill me. I’ll do anything. I’ll- I’ll be good. I won’t tell anyone what I saw. Please don’t hurt me…” She’s curled up in a ball, hugging her knees, and is now just sobbing quietly, alternating glancing at me and the floor.

Damn. 4 minutes, 22 seconds. I was off by 38 seconds. Oh well. “Hey Siri, cancel timer.” I turn back to Mystery Girl and wave again, giving her another winning smile. “Hi. Let’s try this again. I rescued you from that guy. I’m not going to hurt you because let’s be honest, if I wanted to hurt you, you wouldn’t have woken up. Now…” I push the sandwich and seltzer towards her. “… I figure you might need this.”

She looks at me and I swear her eyes bulge out of her head like one of those old cartoon characters, and then she does the most adorable thing. She points to herself and stutters, “M-me?”

“Yes, you. Given your appearance, you’re probably hungry.”

“A-and you’re not going to kill me?”

I roll my eyes. “Lady, if I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead already. You’ve been asleep in my apartment for like, half a day or so.” I get up to grab my own seltzer. No, I don’t keep blood in my refrigerator or anything creepy like that. Just normal drinks.

“What… what are you going to do with me?”

“Well, it’s just about dinnertime, so I was planning on giving you a sandwich and letting you use the shower if you want. A sandwich and a shower can fix a fair number of problems in life.” I sit back down on the opposite end of the couch as she hesitantly drags the sandwich towards her. “So… what’s your name, lady?”

She lets out a really long sigh. It’s not like I’m asking for her biography.

“Elsie.”

And I promptly spit my drink all over the couch. Smooth, Anna. Smooth. Thank God it’s only water. “Sorry. That, uh… that was very close to my sister’s name before she… died. Is that your actual name?”

Mystery Girl - Elsie - looks at me like I’m a space alien. “Umm… what do you mean, my actual name? It really is…” She casts her eyes down towards the floor before murmuring something.

“Could you speak up? I missed that.”

“I’m sorry about your sister.”

So am I. I have been for 173 years. But you can’t change the past. I spent a decade torturing myself, wondering if I could have saved her if I had these abilities, and I nearly drove myself mad.

“Listen, why don’t you have the sandwich and go clean up. I’ll be here if you need anything.”

Elsie nods silently and practically inhales the sandwich before my eyes. I had a feeling she was hungrier than she was letting on. I’ve lived that street life more than a few times over the years, only my hunger was from trying to stop killing people.

I watch her finish eating out of the corner of my eye, pretending to distract myself by playing Gardenscapes on my phone. The distraction is all too real, and before I know it, Elsie’s back with one of my magenta robes wrapped around her body, and I still haven’t gotten past this damn level with these little boxes of honey that… anyway. I look up, and my heart skips a beat. She’s gorgeous, and her hair, now that it’s clean, is exactly the same shade as my sister’s was.

A thousand words fly into my mouth all at once. I’m not sure which ones actually managed to come out, but the look on Elsie’s face indicates that whatever they were, they didn’t make a whole lot of sense.

“I- I’m not sure what you just asked me.”

“Sorry, I do that. Umm… how was the shower?”

Elsie’s smile looked like the breaking of dawn - breathtaking. Ah, shit. I’ve got it bad already.

“It was… very nice. A welcome relief.”

“When… if you don’t mind me asking, when was the last time you had a meal and a hot shower?”

“It’s… been a while.” She sat back down on the couch cautiously, her back ramrod straight. Graceful. Poised. Just like my sister used to. She even has the same nervous hand gestures. “Thank you for helping me - and for saving me, too. I- I guess you’re really not going to hurt me.”

“Like I said, if I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it a long time ago. You’re safe here, Elsa.”

She quirked an eyebrow at my slip of tongue.

“Sorry, Elsie. I, uh… that…” By the heat, I’m guessing my cheeks are close to the color of my hair.

“That was your sister’s name?”

I nod. And like clockwork, here come the tears, pooling in my eyes.

“Well, I’m sure you did everything you could for her, if how you treat me is any indication. You’re a very kind person.”

Words are currently drowning in my throat. All I can do is bow my head and let the tears out.

And then I feel her warmth. She’s- she’s sitting next to me, her palm on my shoulder. Who’s supposed to be comforting who here anyway? I lightly cover her hand with mine, and I feel like I’m about to burst into flames. To have someone who looks just like Elsa sitting next to me, offering me even a tiny scrap of affection - I’m overwhelmed. I’ve wished for a moment like this for more than a century.

I have to control myself, or I’m just going to lean over and start sobbing into a total stranger’s - and that’s exactly what she is - shoulder and just lose my shit.

Whoops.

So much for control. Well, at least she’s not running away, though to be fair, she didn’t run away when she thought I might be a homicidal maniac, either.

“I’m sorry. I don’t… I don’t usually do that to strangers,” I manage to get out a couple minutes later, while snuffling my nose and wiping my eyes.

Elsie giggles a little, hiding her smile behind her hand. My heart skips another beat.

“It’s… okay. I know what it’s like to lose people you care about.”

I motion for her to go on. And by motion, I mean sit there silently, still snuffling my nose and staring at her weirdly. Hey, I may be almost 200 years old, but age and maturity are two different things.

“I… I lost my family, too. A year ago. Drunk driver.”

I reach out to hold her hand. That isn’t weird, right? “What happened?”

“I was finishing up my third semester in nursing school, and I was supposed to meet them at a diner halfway between school and home. I got to the diner. They… they didn’t. My whole family, erased in one evening.” A tear shone in the corner of her eye. “My mom, my dad, my little sister… all gone, along with the other driver.”

My heart aches for her. I’ve lived with that pain for a half dozen of her lifetimes and it never gets better. “Was that how you ended up homeless?”

Elsie nods softly. “My parents were supporting me through school, and after the accident, I had to drop out. I’ve been trying to work odd jobs here and there, save up enough to eventually get a place to live and get back on track.”

Something doesn’t make sense to me. I’m no lawyer, but if her family was killed, why would she be so destitute?

Elsie sobs.

Damn it, I think I said that last part out loud.

“B- b- be- because my f-f-father was the driver who was drunk.”

Of course. Anything her family had, she would have lost in a civil lawsuit. “I’m so sorry, Elsie.” My turn to comfort her. I wrap my arm around her shoulder and cradle her head. We’re both tear-stained, snot-ridden messes at this point.

I’ve lost track of the time holding onto her. After our storms have passed and our hearts have calmed down, Elsie rises from the couch morosely. “Well… thank you for your… umm… hospitality. I certainly needed the meal and the shower so… I guess I’ll be on my way.”

“Where will you go?”

She shrugs and turns towards my apartment’s door. “Some of my stuff is hidden away in a little cubbyhole near the Sixth Street bridge. That’s where I usually sleep.”

“You realize you’re still wearing a bathrobe, right?”

Elsie looks down, startled. When you’re pouring your heart out to a stranger, I guess forgetting what you’re wearing is pretty normal. She turns around to get her stuff out of the bathroom and I can’t. I just can’t let her go. If she walks out that door and something happens to her, I’ll break.

“Stay.”

“I’m sorry?”

I can’t let her go. I can only hope she doesn’t want to be let go. It’s vicious out there. “Stay. Stay here, at least the night. It’s- it’s too dangerous out there.”

She looks at me, wide-eyed, her possessions in a small ball in her nervous hands, twisting and wringing. Dead ringer. Come on, Elsie. Just say yes. Say yes so that I don’t feel like I’m losing my sister all over again.

“I- I can’t. I can’t impose on you like that.”

“Please. I insist. I’ll even make you another sandwich.” That earns me a nervous giggle.

Nervous. Oh. That’s the problem. We still haven’t addressed the elephant in the room, have we?

“I really shouldn’t. You’re too kind.”

“Is it… because of how I killed your attacker?”

The dull thud of her possessions hitting the floor is the only sound she makes, but I can tell she’s moments away from either fleeing again or fainting. Neither’s going to help things, so I gently guide her by the elbow back to the couch.

“Where should I begin?”

She’s hugging herself, curled into as small a ball as she can make herself. Watching me like a hawk. “What… what are you?”

* * *

I told her everything about how I became the way I am. No lies, no vague hints, no obfuscation. The truth, all of it, from losing my family to living here. At first, she shrank further away, until she understood that I don’t hurt anyone who isn’t trying to hurt me. I never have, even before I was like this. My sister used to call me a ray of sunshine, like a walking spring day.

Elsie… she’s not quite so sure, and I can’t blame her. But at least she’s stopped cowering in fear for the most part, though she’s still clutching my throw pillow like a life preserver. I’ll take that win.

It’s just about midnight. The moonlight is streaming in the windows, reflecting off her pale skin and white hair, giving her an ethereal glow as she sits upright on my couch, stifling a yawn. She almost looks like Elsa’s ghost, and it’s equal parts unsettling and uplifting.

“So… will you stay? I’ve got plenty of room and you… you don’t have to sleep out there tonight,” I gesture in the general direction of the window.

“I… I don’t know, Anna. You’re a real, honest-to-God vampire and that’s… a lot to take in, still.” She’s biting her lower lip again. That’s a good thing, isn’t it? It means she’s at least giving it some thought. “Where… where would I stay?”

Oh, that’s easy. “In my bed, of course!”

Her eyes bulge again. Foot, meet mouth. It sounded so much more innocent in my head.

“Not- not like that! Sorry! I mean, you can sleep in my bed, and I’ll sleep on this lovely couch! See?” I grin nervously, patting the couch awkwardly.

“All- all right. Just for tonight, though. I have to admit, any place that isn’t the pile of gravel and dirt near Sixth Street would be an improvement, but I really don’t want to impose on you, vampire or not.” She gathers up her belongings once more and follows me as I open the door to my bedroom.

“Anna…”

“Yes?”

“You… you don’t, um, eat here, do you?” she asks nervously, looking around every corner in the very small bedroom, like she’s waiting for someone to jump out at her.

“Nope. Well, I mean, not often. Sometimes I’ll fall asleep in bed with a sandwich, especially if I’m in the middle of a series on Netflix. But I really hate the feeling of crumbs in my sheets.”

She’s shaking her head vigorously. I must have missed something. “I mean… eat here. You know… the vampire kind of eating.”

I slap my forehead with my palm. “No. I don’t do that here, I never have. No uh, ghosts or skeletons in the closet, see?” I half-heartedly laugh, throwing open the closet door to show off my anemic wardrobe of mostly t-shirts and jeans.

Elsie gasps, pointing at the person-shaped shadow in the back of my closet. “What- what is that, then?”

“That? Oh! Ha ha…” I turn on the light, pulling out my life-size Brie Larson Captain Marvel cardboard cutout. I shrug while admiring the artwork. “What can I say? I’m a fan.”

A breath that neither of us realized she was holding rushed out of her. I guess she really was expecting literal skeletons in the closet.

Satisfied that no other surprises awaited her, Elsie climbs into my bed and for just a moment, she lets her guard all the way down. An expression of pure bliss graces her face for a fleeting moment, which I can understand because I own like, thousand thread-count sheets. I may not have a big place, but I know where to spend my money.

I sit down on the edge of the bed, making sure not to spook her by being too close. “Good?”

A tear rolls down her bony cheek. “You… you have no idea. It’s been so long since I’ve slept in a bed, almost a year. I’ve slept on benches, rocks, everything since… the accident. One of the other girls over on Seventh told me once that if I missed beds so much, I should start turning tricks, but… I can’t. I couldn’t. I don’t have much left, but I do have my dignity.”

I nod silently. I’d been in a similar situation, long ago. During the Great War, I was hiding in Constantinople and this pimp tried to recruit me for his harem. Of course, he wouldn’t take no for an answer, so eventually I had to communicate no in a more toothy fashion, but still… I understand where she’s coming from.

I take a chance and cup her cheek with my palm, and she doesn’t pull away. God, she’s so thin and frail. “You did the right thing, Elsie. You did what was best for you. Now, get some rest and if you need me, I’ll be on the couch, okay?”

A nod and a smile - and she’s asleep in moments. My breath catches; the moonlight shining on her covered body is a flashback to my childhood, when I’d wake up in the middle of the night and see Elsa snoring gently under the covers, the moon lighting up her hair like the little angel she was.

* * *

“Anna, no! Anna, please, no! Not you too, please, NO!” she shrieks, her voice hoarse from crying.

I fling off my blanket and rush from the couch to her side. She’s… still asleep? Why is she screaming my name, then? What in the world is going on here? I shake her shoulder gently, and before I know it, she’s rolled over and grabbed my waist in a hug so tight, I’d swear she’s the supernatural one here. “Elsie, Elsie! It’s okay, it’s just a dream, okay? Come on now, wake up. It’s not real.”

She’s sobbing into my sleeping shorts, clutching me so hard I can barely breathe. “Thank God, Anna, thank God. I thought I’d lost you…”

I’m so confused, but I gently stroke her hair and back anyway. Her sobbing starts to slow down after a couple of minutes, her breathing normal again. Whatever the storm was, it’s passing, and I feel myself relax a little. “It’s… it’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe, Elsie. I’ve got you.”

A gasp. She lets go and sits up, her cheeks flaming red, tears still slowly running down her cheeks. “I- I- I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean- I thought you were- I-”

“Take a deep breath, Elsie. It’s okay. I’m here. Do… do you want to talk about it?”

“I… I’m really sorry about that. I didn’t mean to wake you or… or to startle you.” I didn’t think it was possible for her blush to get any darker, but it just did. My hand’s on hers, gently tracing circles on her palm.

Another deep breath. “I was… I was having a nightmare of that night. The night.”

“The night you found out you lost your family.”

She nods in affirmation before looking down at the bedsheets, her head bowed in shame at the memories. “I remember the police officer came into the diner. He was so kind, he tried to break the news to me gently but… I lost it. I collapsed right there in the diner, screaming their names.”

“I don’t blame you one bit for that, Elsie. I did the same thing when I came to. I spent years being tormented by it.” I take a deep breath of my own. “Why… why were you calling my name?”

“I wasn’t! Anna… that was my sister’s name.”

No way. That’s a hell of a coincidence. Fate, if you’re fucking with me again, we are so going to have a little chat once I get to the afterlife, and then I’m going to put my fist in your teeth.

“I… I’m sorry I startled you. I didn’t mean for you to get so… involved in my nightmare.” She’s blushing again, and despite the circumstances, it’s really cute.

“It really is okay, Elsie. Why don’t you try to get some more sleep, okay?” I stand up and head for the door. “Want me to leave the light on for you?” God, I’m such a doofus sometimes. Why did I say that? She’s not 5 years old.

“Anna?”

“Hmm?”

“Would… would you please stay with me for a little while? Just until I fall asleep?”

Oh God. This is everything I’ve been dreaming of and everything I’ve been afraid of since I laid eyes on her.

“All right.” Which is more important, my issues or hers? Hers. Even if she isn’t my sister, she’s so much like her that I feel the same responsibility and love and care and… yeah. Did I mention I’ve got it bad? I do.

I lay down next to her - on top of the covers, thank you very much - and she immediately rolls over and throws an arm over my stomach. I can’t breathe, because if I move a muscle, I’m going to do something we’ll both regret.

“Thank you, Anna. For everything. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve your help, but I am so grateful for it.”

Good. Gratitude. That’s noble and easy to focus on instead of … less noble feelings I might be having. I can work with gratitude.

“You’re welcome, Elsie. Sleep well.”

—-

Morning arrives with its usual explosion… of my hair. I can still feel Elsie’s arm around my stomach, and even on top of the covers, I feel…

Oh God, here come the feels. It’s too early for this.

I feel… loved. I feel loved again, for the first time since I lost Elsa. Have I woken up next to beautiful women in the years since my family’s murders? Yes, of course - usually next to a blonde, too. But this feels different. This feels… like her.

I never told Elsa how I really felt about her. Let’s face it, Scandivanian nations in the 1840s were not paragons of social progressiveness, being the kind of place where church attendance was mandatory for all citizens. Two women in a relationship would have been a scandal. Two sisters in a relationship would have been literal, burn-you-alive heresy.

But I wanted to. Oh God, did I want to confess my love to her, to tell her how much she meant to me, to hug her and kiss her and make her feel as good as even the slightest touch of hers made me feel. But I couldn’t. I didn’t.

I didn’t even get to say goodbye to her. And I’ve regretted it every one of the last 63,000 days I’ve lingered in this world without her.

“It’s okay, Anna. It’s okay. Don’t cry.”

I blink. I’m not sure who’s saying that. Is it my memories of Elsa, or is it Elsie next to me? I try to reply but all that comes out is snuffling. Great. I’m apparently sobbing while I’m reliving the past.

I turn to face her and hear her coughing and spluttering.

“Elsie? Is something wrong?”

“Your- hair- in my face!” She gently tames my mane a bit so we can see each other. “There. Are… are you all right, Anna?”

She’s gently stroking her fingers on my forearm as we look at each other. I’m more than all right. I’m home again. I’m not sure what to say. I can’t confess everything running through my head, so after a few minutes, I blurt out the most natural thing to say.

“How about some breakfast?”

The grin she rewards me with makes my soul weep with joy. Faster than a speeding bullet, I’m racing for the kitchen. What can I make her? What would she like?

I realize how little I know about her and how many assumptions I’m making based on a person who lived in an era before electricity. Like, what if she’s allergic to gluten? “Elsie… anything in particular you’d like to eat?”

“I’m honestly fine with anything, Anna. I don’t want to take advantage of your kindness.”

What do you make when someone won’t make up their mind? Well in my case, you spoil them. I pull out a pint of Haagen Dazs vanilla ice cream and pop it in the microwave, get out the brioche that’s been sitting in the back of the fridge for a few days (because any sandwich lover is going to have top-tier bread, let me tell you), and my cast iron griddle. Oh yeah. It’s French toast time, courtesy of a Jacques Pepin video I saw one night when I fell down a YouTube clickhole on cooking shows.

Fifteen minutes later, I’ve made God-tier French toast and the smell alone has Elsie poking her head out of the bedroom. She’s still wearing the nightrobe from after her bath, which briefly amuses me until I remember the gravity of the situation and the fact that she has literally nothing else.

“Hey, umm, if you want, feel free to borrow any clothes from my drawers!”

Another minute or two later, and she’s timidly making her way to my kitchen table, wearing one of my green flannel shirts and my Finish Each Others Sandwiches t-shirt, her arms wrapped around her stomach. “That… smells amazing.”

I motion for her to sit. “Dig in before it gets cold!”

The smile on her face when she takes that first bite… I’ll cook this meal for the rest of eternity if it gets her to smile like that every time.

“How… you know, never mind. This tastes like magic, Anna, and I can’t thank you enough.”

“You’re welcome. And I meant what I said last night. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want, no strings attached.”

She sighs and puts down her fork. “Anna… look, I know I’m not nearly as old as you, but I’m old enough to know how the world works. Nothing good is ever free. What… what do you get out of it? What do I have to do for you?”

I’m taken aback but… yeah, she’s got a point. I mean, from an outside point of view, me inviting some young woman I’ve just met to live in my place for as long as she wants is super sketchy - especially when she knows what I am. And ‘you remind me of my dead sister I was secretly in love with’ isn’t creepy at all.

Okay, yeah, that’s super creepy. So I don’t have a good answer for her, except the truth… mostly.

“Look… I meant what I said last night. You remind me of my sister a lot, and… I feel like I’m settling up with the universe somehow for what I couldn’t do for her. I know, I know, that’s a lot of projecting and emotional baggage and stuff, but… that’s what’s in it for me. Feeling like… feeling like I’m honoring her memory by helping you.”

Elsie nods slowly and exhales, a faint smile gracing her lips. “Okay. Just so long as we’re clear that I’m not her, and… I can’t be her. I’m a homeless former nursing student, not some European royalty. I- I appreciate the kindness, I just want to make sure that it’s coming from a good place. Life has pulled the rug out from under me before.”

I rest my hand on hers. “I know what you mean. All I can do is promise you that I won’t ever ask you to do anything you don’t want to, okay? You know where I’m coming from and what my motivations are.”

“Okay.”

* * *

After clearing the air, I have the best month of my life. Elsie sticks around, I cook for her, and we share some quality time together. I use my Netflix subscription more in a month than I have in a year, sitting on the couch with her in the evenings. I get to know her, and as much as she isn’t Elsa in some ways, in all the right ways, she is.

She grew up the elder sister in a family that, while they weren’t European royalty, did quite well for themselves. Before the accident, her father was a doctor and her mother was an opera singer. She and her Anna grew up almost as close as I did with Elsa, which brought us both to tears one night on the couch, reliving our memories.

With one bad break after another, she’d given up hope of finishing school and was just trying to survive when we found each other. I’m the first good thing that’s happened to her in the last year.

And all those right ways… the way she laughs, hiding a giggle behind her hand. The way she absent-mindedly pushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The way she wrings her hands when she’s nervous.

But most of all… once she started feeling more comfortable? The way she can sing, just like Elsa. My God, can she sing, and it sounds like the heavens opening up and choirs of angels turning the dial to 11. She sings in the shower the most, and creepily I sit right outside just to listen as she belts out something about the wind and the sky.

I can’t help myself.

A month of proper nutrition and not sleeping on rocks has restored her quickly to health and now… now she really does look like Elsa. We haven’t shared a bed since that first night, and that’s probably a good thing, because I have no idea how I’d control myself.

Control, as you’ve probably noticed, isn’t something I’ve gained a whole lot more of over the years.

Today’s a big day for her. She’s finally feeling safe enough with me to want to get her stuff from her hideaway over on Sixth Street, so she’s off to do that while I clean up some of the mess around my apartment more permanently to make some real space for her. She even hugged me good-bye, which got my heart racing a little.

Except… she’s been gone a little longer than she should be. Sixth Street isn’t that far from here. Unless she’s got a U-Haul full of crap that she’s towing by hand, it’s not more than a 15 minute walk and she’s been gone for 45 minutes.

Maybe… maybe I’ll go have a look. I swear I’m not stalking her.

I put on my leather duster and head for Sixth Street. It’s freezing cold out; autumn has definitely decided to move on. Half a block before I get there, I smell it.

Blood.

Oh God.

I burst into a run, dry leaves swirling in my wake, as I make it to Sixth Street. There’s a guy, a big brute standing over her, a real greaseball wearing oily, tattered army fatigues, his knuckles bruised from hitting someone.

And she’s laying on the ground, clutching an ugly army knife sticking out of her stomach, a small backpack laying next to her.

No.

My stomach lurches like the sharpest roller coaster drop in the world, and I leap at the guy. No grace, no dramatic speech, no martial arts fight scene from the movies. Not while she’s suffering. I knee him once to get him leaning over and grab his chin and filthy head with both hands.

Snap.

He’s done and down. Elsie’s bleeding out. I grab a ripped blanket from the pile of belongings she dropped and press on the wound, but it’s bad. I’ve seen many wounds over my lifetime, and one look at this one tells me everything I didn’t want to know.

She’s not going to make it.

“A- anna…” she whispers, a lone tear at the corner of her eye. “I… I’m sorry.”

I feel my heart breaking all over again.

“Come on, Elsie. Stay with me. Stay with me!” I gently slap her cheeks, but she’s fading fast. “Do you want to live?”

Her eyes start to close.

“ELSA! DO YOU WANT TO LIVE?”

A small nod. That’s enough for me. I open my mouth and bite hard into my wrist, enough to get my blood flowing, and I hold it over her mouth, prying her jaw open. I don’t know how this whole business works, not really, but if it worked for Tom Cruise’s character, it’s worth a shot. A minute or two passes by, and for good measure I drip some of my blood on her wound, too.

After a few minutes, her breathing shallows and steadies. I hear her heartbeat gathering strength. I idly wonder if this is what happened to me decades ago. Another few minutes pass by, and her bleeding has mostly stopped, enough that I should be able to carefully carry her home. I grab her belongings and sling them over my shoulder, then pick her up like a bride.

Once we’re back at my place, I throw down a few towels on the couch and carefully remove the knife. Amazingly, the wound is already starting to heal a little. She’s pale, so pale, but she’s not gone and that’s all I can ask for. I bandage her up as best as I can and put a towel over her.

And wait.

And wait.

Day turns to night and the moon’s silver light makes her appear ghostly again. She’s breathing, and the scrapes and bruises on her face have healed up. Hopefully the mortal wound has as well.

Idly, I look in the tattered blue backpack she had gathered her stuff in. There’s a couple pieces of clothing, a worn leather wallet, and a few knick knacks inside. I open her wallet up to find mostly dust, lint, and a worn student ID card when I hear her moan in pain. Tossing the card on the coffee table, I check on her. She’s starting to shiver, so I put a blanket on top of the towels.

Guilt hits me like a tidal wave as I stare at her pale face, the moon’s light making her look like the angel she is. She’s going to make it, but I’ve traded one fate of hers for another. Instead of the eternity of the grave, I’ve given her an eternity of living… sort of. I slump down in the armchair. Eternity sounds cool until you realize that nothing is permanent except you.

Not hope.

Not love.

Not even life itself. I’m thankful I didn’t have any kids, because I would have outlived them… and their kids, and their kids, and so on.

And the price she’ll pay for living… the same as me. She’ll have to kill in order to live.

Oh my God, what have I done to her? What if she doesn’t forgive me?

I lose track of time watching over her, but at some point, she stirs and I pick my head up, having fallen asleep on her.

And drooled on her. Gross. I’m a real prize.

“…”

Duh. After that much blood loss, her mouth is probably drier than a desert. Her eyes are open, though, confusion swirling in beautiful topaz irises. I grab a water bottle off the kitchen counter and gently bring it to her lips.

After a few minutes, I speak up. “How are you feeling, Elsie?”

“I- what- what happened, Anna?”

How much should I tell her? “What do you remember?”

“Butch… Butch was threatening me again. He… he said he saw me go home with someone, and he… he said no whores work his block without dealing him in. I- I tried to tell him that I wasn’t doing that, but then-”

I watch the memories replay in her head and grab her hands, holding them in mine. She’s freezing. Her tears flow freely as she relives the attack.

“-then he stabbed me. It hurt, Anna, it hurt so much. I didn’t know what to do. The last thing I remember… I think I remember… I thought I was dying, and an angel came to take me to Heaven. And she looked just like you. But then she asked me if I wanted to live, and I tried to say yes. Yes, I want to live so…”

She turns her eyes downward suddenly, and the slightest blush creeps into her cheeks.

“It’s okay, Elsie. If it’s too painful to talk about, I understand.”

“No, no. It’s not painful. It’s… embarrassing.” She brings a hand to her mouth. “I said, I want to live so I can come home to you, Anna.”

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Or maybe both. Quite possibly at the same time. I’ve damned her, and she struggled back to this life to come home to me? When did this happen? How long has she been feeling like this?

I need to tell her. I have to tell her. As much as I want to just savor this moment, how she feels towards me, what we could have… I have to tell her, or else whatever happens will be a lie. A lie of omission, but a lie no less.

“Elsie… listen, there’s something I have to tell you. I… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry? For what, Anna? You… you saved me. I don’t know how, but you saved me. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Every word is like a knife in my own gut.

“For- for how I saved you, Elsie. You were dying. You were almost gone. Once you told me that you wanted to live, I… I did to you what was done to me. It was the only thing I could think of.”

She looks at me, eyes wide.

Say something. Please, Elsie, say something. Say anything. Every second of silence feels like a condemnation of my existence.

“So… I’m… like you now?” she whispers, still holding my gaze.

I nod. It’s all I can do without falling apart. Her chest is rising and falling slowly. She’s not hyperventilating. She’s not panicking. She’s… not reacting?

“And… I will have to drink blood to survive?”

I nod again, tears slipping from my eyes. “I’m… I’m so sorry, Elsie. I didn’t want to turn you into this, into… into a murderer like me. You must hate me so much.”

She’s… smiling?

“You saved me. You saved me and gave me a new life, Anna, weeks before you brought me back from death’s door. You’ve done so much for me and never asked anything of me. Why would I hate you?”

I’m so confused. She should be losing her shit, just like I am.

“You… you don’t hate me? Even after I’ve turned you into this… this monstrosity?” I gesture towards myself.

She laughs, just like my sister used to. “Anna… you know you don’t HAVE to kill people to get blood, right? When I was a nursing student, I used to help coordinate blood drives all the time.”

She picks up the obvious bat and hits a home run right between my eyes. I never once thought of that. For being almost 200 years old, I swear sometimes I feel like I was born yesterday.

“So… you don’t hate me.”

A vigorous shake of her head is all the answer I need to feel a surge of relief. I don’t need to earn her forgiveness. I look up to the sky, my eyes watery, and whisper thanks to whoever’s running the show that I haven’t fucked this up.

Wait. She’s biting her lip and not looking at me. Shit. And she’s wringing her hands. Double shit. What did I do? I mean, beyond the obvious.

“No, I don’t hate you, Anna. I…”

I gently take her hands into mine to keep her from twisting herself into knots, literally. I’m this close to just spewing words at her to fill the awkward pause, so I bite my tongue.

Ow.

“Anna… I… I don’t hate you at all. God, this is hard to say.” She looks out the window towards the moon, looking for answers and reassurance. “I feel the opposite. I- I have feelings for you. I’ve had them for a while. I- I like you, Anna.”

You know what a sigh of relief, a whoop of joy, and a laugh sound like when they all happen together? They sound like a pig with hiccups, which is what I sound like at this very moment.

I compose myself as best as I can given the shit-eating grin on my face. “I like you too, Elsie. And not because you remind me of someone I lost. Over the last month, I’ve grown to really, really like you, the real you.”

Cue the water works.

“When I found you hurt, I lost it, Elsie. I couldn’t imagine my days without you, and I knew I had to save you. This past month has been wonderful, and I don’t want to lose you. I never want to lose you.”

A shy smile and a blush are my reward. “Well… it would seem you don’t have to worry about that now, do you?”

I snort laugh again. Did I mention how suave and smooth I’m not? “No, I guess not.”

She’s closer to me. Or I’m closer to her. I’m not sure which. But all I can feel is this magnetic pull. I can practically feel the heat radiating off her cheeks, the soft feathery touch of her breath on my face. God, I’m on fire. I’m vibrating, that’s how intense this feeling is between us.

And then it happens. The gentlest contact as my lips touch hers. Or hers touch mine. I can’t tell the difference, but all I feel is warmth, softness, her lips smooth and strong against mine. We kiss tentatively, and then we don’t. My arms are around her, squeezing her tight to me, and I lay to the side of her on the couch. Her arms are around me, pressing firm lines up and down my spine with her palms. I can’t get enough of her, of her closeness, of her intensity.

I arch my back and turn to look at the coffee table for just a moment, and see her faded student ID card on it.

Elsa Agnarsdottir.

Fate, I’m going to punch you in the face… later.

But right now, I have to kiss Elsa for the rest of my life.

## Author’s Notes

This fic was part of the October 2020 Elsanna Shenanigans contest. The theme of heartbeat inspired it, as well as autumn and moonlight.

* * *

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	2. Fate's Games, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So, Anna, tell me. Tell me what you desire."

# Fate’s Games, Chapter 2

So, this is Hell. It’s oddly blue and cold. I was expecting… I don’t know, fire and brimstone? Instead it looks like a set from a bad science fiction film - you know, the kind where they did it as low budget as possible so they found a rocky place and slapped a blue filter on the camera.

Anyway! It looks like I’m in Hell. I’m not surprised, to be honest. Just the sheer number of people I killed in my lifetime more than earned me a spot here. I’m just glad I was able to be with Elsa for as long as we had. We weren’t immortal, but we did get a solid few centuries before I finally kicked the bucket. My only regret was leaving her behind. She’s probably got another two centuries to go, and I already miss her. This is going to be… well, Hell, I guess.

I walk up the black stone pathway, past what look like prison cells with golden chains jailing the occupants. It’s… snowing? No, nope, that’s not snow. That’s ash. After I have no idea how long, I find my way to what looks like a throne room, carved entirely out of obsidian rock. On it is… not what I was expecting.

“Hey, where’s the red-skinned guy who looks like a half-goat with horns coming out of his head?” I ask rather bluntly. I mean, I have nothing to lose at this point if I’m here, right?

“Oh hello there,” says the occupant, a tall, dark, and handsome guy in what looks like a super expensive suit. His accent sounds… British? Do the British run Hell? That would explain British food, honestly. “I’ve been expecting you. Drink?” He gestures to what appears to be a full bar, which I swear wasn’t there a second ago.

I shake my head. “I’m, uh, good for now. So… you are…?”

“Why, I’m the Devil, of course. Satan. Beelzebub. Old Scratch. Lucifer, if you will,” he smarmed with an ingratiating smile that’s kind of obnoxious.

Great. At least he’s polite, right? Well, I guess my debts are due, and I say as much. He laughs and shakes his head. “Whatever do you mean, dear?”

“For all the people I killed?”

I didn’t think his grin could get any bigger, but it did. It’s a little unsettling how… happy he is. “Yes, yes, but they deserved it, Anna. They deserved your punishment, and you gave them a nice little nudge off the mortal coil to here. Did you know,” he downed his glass of… whatever, “that every single one of them had committed countless atrocities before you killed them? Rape, murder, mutilation. Nasty lot, they were. The world was better off without them.” He shook his head and poured himself another drink. “No, Anna, you punished the wicked, and for that I feel like I owe you a favor or two.”

I’ve got this queasy feeling in my stomach. I was raised Lutheran, and the Devil is someone we generally considered a Very Bad Guy™. Punishing the wicked sounds like a job for someone else, not the guy who heads up Evil Incorporated. Where’s he going with this?

“So, Anna, tell me. Tell me what you desire.” Oh my god, his eyes. They’re staring at me. No, they’re boring a hole in my soul. I feel like I’m drowning, like a pallet of concrete is pressing on me. If I wasn’t already dead, I’d swear he was smothering the life out of me.

“I… I… I want to be reunited with my sister,” I manage to stammer. “I miss her, and I’m going to have to wait hundreds of years to see her again, if I see her at all. She’s so good and pure that…she’s going to end up at the other place. The Good Place.”

The Devil… is that what I should be calling him? Satan? Lucifer? I don’t know, but we’ll go with Satan - has stopped his glare from… I gotta stop with the ‘from Hell’ cliches. Anyway, he’s stopped drilling a hole through my soul, and he’s… laughing?

Shit. That can’t be good.

“Now, now. This is where we punish the wicked. It’s not good or bad, it just is. Believe me, it’s more interesting here than at Dad’s place,” he chuckles, pointing up. “Now, about your sister. Surely you realize that time has no meaning here?”

“How would I know that? It’s not like someone handed me a copy of Afterlife for Dummies on the way here!” Yes, I’m sassing Satan. I might regret this later. I might not. But at least he’ll know I’m being honest. “Now, what about my sister? If time doesn’t mean anything here, does that mean she’s… here?”

Satan gestures towards the door, which looks an awful lot like an elevator. It dings pleasantly and opens… to reveal Elsa. I think.

See, I’m still unclear about whether Elsa - Elsie - was my sister or not. She seemed so much like her, but as I got to know Elsie in the couple of hundred years after she became a vampire, she was definitely her own person too. So who’s standing in front of me right now, wringing her hands?

“Hey, uh… Satan?” I ask nervously. I don’t know why I’m suddenly nervous. It’s not like I wasn’t just mouthing off to the Prince of Darkness a minute ago. “Is… this Elsie, or is this my sister?”

Satan giggles. And I’m being totally serious. He’s giggling like a schoolgirl, which is… off-putting. “Lucifer, please. And well, that depends, my dear Anna. What’s in a name? An Elsa by any other soul is just as sweet, don’t you think?”

Elsa walks forward, just as nervous as me. “A-Anna? Is it really you?” She hesitates for a moment before sprinting across the short distance to wrap me in a hug. Oh God, I missed her, and I haven’t even been dead all that long. I think.

I smell peppermint and lavender on her. That was what my real sister wore in the palace of Arendelle. But I also smell Dior’s Hypnotic Poison on her, and in our later years together when we were doing well for ourselves, that’s what Elsie liked to wear.

What. The. This makes absolutely no sense to me. Also, it’s a really confusing mix of perfumes. I like it, it’s just… a lot. Literally.

After we untangle ourselves, I look back at Lucifer. “You’re telling me that she’s both? How can someone be two different people?”

“As I said, an Elsa by any other soul…” he giggled again. Still weird. “Yes, to answer your question, she’s both. You’re special, Anna. You’re different-”

“A good different?” I interrupt, laughing at myself. I used to say that all the time when I was growing up. Elsa rolls her eyes. Yep, she’s definitely my sister.

Lucifer apparently thinks I’m much less funny than I do, because he’s rolling his eyes. “You’re a different kind of soul. One of Dad’s special little projects, the two of you. I’m fairly certain he’s trying to create some kind of example of purified love, two souls that can never be separated or some other poetic nonsense.” Lucifer’s looking up, scorning the blackened skies. “So yes, Elsie and the sister you grew up with are the same soul. Slightly different bodies, but the same soul, brought back. Call it a bit of recycling, if you will.”

Elsa’s soul is… recycled? I’m not sure whether to laugh or be really pissed off about that. “So, you just brought her back to what, torture me?”

Lucifer clucks his tongue like an old schoolmarm. That’s really comical and equally unsettling too. “Not torture. Test. Now, since you’ve clearly passed Dad’s latest test, I have a proposition for you both.” He flexes his fingers, like he’s about to play piano.

Elsa laces her fingers with mine. God, I missed that feeling. Holding her hand is like tethering myself to reality, like the anchor holding me steady in a storm. She beats me to the punch, looking at me with those beautiful sapphire eyes. “We’ll do this together?”

I squeeze her hand. “Together.”

“Fine,” Lucifer says with a patronizing smile. “Here’s the proposition. A bargain, if you will. You can proceed to the regular afterlife, where your souls will be cleaned and after a short period of penance for whatever misdeeds you committed, you’ll move onto the celestial heavens and live an afterlife of bliss and contentment. Or, you can go back to mortal life to be together again, with all the pain that entails.”

Elsa speaks up while I’m still rolling the words around in my head. “What’s the catch?”

“The catch, my dear, is that once your souls have been cleaned and your burdens have been lifted, you’ll likely have no memory of each other.”

“No.”

I’m not sure which of us said it, or if it was both of us. But we both meant it. “What the hell, pardon the pun, is the point of Heaven if I don’t have the one person I love with me?” I shout at Lucifer.

“Why, it’s pure, unadulterated bliss, of course. Your soul is perfectly content, no pain or misery at all. Many mortals strive their whole lives to find that,” he says ingratiatingly.

“I spent decades before I found Elsa again. You are NOT separating us, buddy.” Again, probably not the best idea to pick a fight with the guy who runs this place but hey, she who dares, wins. At least I think that’s what was on the motivational poster I had in my kitchen once.

“I can’t do this without Anna. I won’t do it without her. If I had to choose eternity in Hell with her, or eternity in Heaven without her, I’ll choose Hell every time,” Elsa declares, squeezing my hand. I could not love her more.

Lucifer looks up to the sky once more, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Told you so, Dad. Right, well then, let’s get to sending you on your way. And Dad will want to keep testing your love, so we’ll make this round a little more interesting.”

Stop the presses. This round? “Wait a minute! How many times have we done this?” I yell, my face warming up a little.

“Oh… more than a few. Love’s… a funny thing,” Lucifer smirks. “Now Elsa, off you go as you’re the older sister,” he waves his fingers, and my sister disappears in a flash of bright light. “Let’s make this a little more fun, shall we? This time around, she’s going to have some kind of special ability. What do you think, Anna? What should she be able to do that will challenge her?”

“Video chat,” I snort. “She sucks at video chat.”

Lucifer rolls his eyes again. “No, no. Boring! Too mundane. Also unavailable in the 1800s. Let’s go with magical. This time, she has… ice powers. And as for you… well, you’ll have to wait and see. Ta ta, dear.”

And with that, I feel myself being pulled through space and time, until I find myself back in our old Palace as a little kid, my previous life’s memories already fading. But hey, as long as I have Elsa by my side, I’ll be okay.

What could go wrong?

## Author’s Notes

The epilogue came from feedback in the Elsanna Shenanigans Monthly Reviewers Club, in which several people asked for clarity about who or what Elsa was. This crosses over with the Lucifer/CW universe a little for giggles.

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End file.
